


A gentler world

by aryastark_valarmorghulis



Series: Ficlets [5]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Canon Compliant, Cooking, Friends to Lovers, Getting Back Together, Happy Ending, Lie Low At Lupin's (Harry Potter), M/M, POV Sirius Black, Post-Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban, Romance, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 07:02:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,023
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24539701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aryastark_valarmorghulis/pseuds/aryastark_valarmorghulis
Summary: Sirius attempts to cook for the first time in ages while lying low at Lupins.
Relationships: Sirius Black/Remus Lupin
Series: Ficlets [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1286798
Comments: 36
Kudos: 192





	A gentler world

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kattlupin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kattlupin/gifts), [catewip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catewip/gifts).



> Huge thanks to [KittyCargo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/KittyCargo/pseuds/KittyCargo) for the Beta work and to [Kattlupin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kattlupin) and [catewip](https://archiveofourown.org/users/catewip) for the sweet prompts!  
> 

Sirius has already lined up all the food: a bowl of rice, carrots, a white onion, a bag of frozen green peas, eggs, salt and pepper.

The yellowed curtains above the sink billow slightly in the mild afternoon breeze, a warm light paints the wooden cupboard and the copper pans in gold and ochre – even the stained stove doesn’t seem so ugly, in that light.

Time seems so gentle here in Wales – Sirius sensed it as soon as he stepped on Remus’ threshold, still wearing the dog’s skin, that he could rest for a little while. Maybe talk, maybe learn how to be human again, maybe – but that’s precisely why it cannot last. Time isn’t gentle at all and his days of lying low at Remus’ are numbered. Even Remus’ kindness is laced with a resigned undertone.

Sirius looks down at his own hands holding the new wand Remus purchased for him at the black market in Knockturn Alley – lined and scarred, the word _sink_ inked on the knuckles of one hand and _swim_ on the other.

His hands were not made for gentle things – they’re made to curse and smash and cut, to brew poisons and throw punches; not to cook a nice dinner, not to grow plants, not to hold a child, not to caress a lover under a cocoon of blankets when it’s cold and the rain patters against the windows. And yet, he did all that – as much as it seems another life – it wasn’t another man. It was Sirius.

He remembers the little balcony of his London flat, altered with an illegal Extension Charm: the rails were dotted with Dittany plants, the floor was blue and white with lavender and valerian pots, not to mention the Chinese Chomping Cabbage he managed to grow so that he could brew Skele-gro. He had set it up to help Remus after full moons, certainly not because of an interest in Herbology.

He remembers cradling a newborn Harry in his arms, and it was already there, the nagging doubt his hands were born to kill, not to hold such an innocent, fragile creature. He remembers holding Remus, too, of course, but he doesn’t indulge in _those_ memories.

He wishes to cook dinner for Remus, who’s at work and has done all the cooking and cleaning since Sirius arrived – not because he owes Remus, but because it would be pleasant to do something nice, for a while. And because Remus still has a sweet smile.

He places the wand on the counter and he grabs a pan from its hook on the wall, starts by frying the rice and, after a while, he pours in the whisked eggs. He decided to cook without using spells – he’s always been a mediocre cook and his magic is volatile at best lately. He doesn’t want a repeat of the other night, when the glasses left to dry on the dish rack exploded in a rain of tiny shards after Remus stroked the back of his neck before bidding him goodnight. (He wasn’t even making a pass at Sirius, he was merely being friendly. Or maybe not. Remus hasn’t gotten easier to read in thirteen years.)

By the time he hears Remus’ footsteps at the doorway, he’s added onions, garlic, carrots and peas, and the overall smell isn’t half-bad.

“Hi, I’m back – oh, but you _cooked?_ ” Remus comes over at the stove to peer at the rice, something akin to happiness etched in the lines at the corner of his eyes and mouth.

Sirius turns off the gas and shrugs. The thought that no one ever cooked for Remus in thirteen years stirs a mix of sadness and vindicated glee inside him. “Well, if you learned how to cook I figured I could too.”

Remus smiles that sweet smile that Sirius loves. “Thank you, Padfoot, you shouldn’t have, but it smells delicious. I would’ve bought a bottle of wine if you told me we were having something different than toast.” Remus is doing it again, that maddening thing where he’s almost – almost but not quite – hooking his chin on Sirius’ shoulder. Where they both know he _fits_.

“Wouldn’t want you to lose your entire pay-check at once,” Sirius jokes.

He can feel Remus’ self-deprecating smile even with his back turned, and the warm tingle of gratitude fills his chest because he joked without thinking if they were allowed to tease one another again, and apparently they are.

“Would’ve stolen it, then.”

“Thought you were a respectable professor nowadays,” Sirius chuckles. “It’s ready if you’re hungry, just set the table?”

Remus does it with a distracted wave of his wand, cutlery and glasses clinking before arranging themselves on the tiny table. A couple of candles float lazily in the air as they tuck into their food.

It’s not exactly high cuisine but it’s good – although Remus is a bit too enthusiastic in his praise for a simple fried rice. He does that now, treats Sirius like he’s fragile, like he must be coddled.

“Quit it, will you? One would think you were the one living off rats in the last year, not me,” Sirius points his spoon at him. Remus only shrugs, the dwindling light setting his grey-brown hair ablaze in a reddish halo, his eyes warm and sweet even when Sirius is being sarcastic.

“I was only trying to convince you to make a dessert, tomorrow,” Remus jokes. Their empty plates float above the sink, where a dish brush and a sponge start to wash them.

They share a look over the table. They spent a good deal of time dancing around each other in their youth, struggling to speak about their feelings at first, and then struggling to communicate at all. Time isn’t on their side right now, and Sirius would like to think they’ve learned something from the past.

“Well, you can have _dessert_ tonight, you know?” Sirius ventures, with just the right amount of irony that it could pass as a harmless joke.

Remus laughs softly - he doesn’t blush like when he was younger but his hazel eyes sparkle with affection. “I like dessert.”

**Author's Note:**

> find me on [tumblr](https://aryastark-valarmorghulis.tumblr.com/)!


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